highlights
by vivafiction
Summary: this is something we have in common -— katara & zuko. zutara week.
1. —calor

**title** — highlights  
**pairing** — katara & zuko  
**warnings** — sexual situations and adult themes  
**etc** — um, this was my last minute decision to participate in zutara week. oops.

…

Katara thinks this is a terrible idea, terrible that she leans back into his chest, flickers her eyes shut when he touches those surprisingly cool lips to the pulse of her neck, strong and frantic with the heat of her blood.

Everything is so _hot_ and Katara can't understand; she could never understand the kind of heat that made people delirious, driving them wild with the need for gratification, but it seemed to be its own language that wound its hot grasp into people's minds, infecting them with a feverish blaze and the intuition to know what would quench them.

Zuko seems to be that thing, for the night.

He doesn't mind keeping her thoughts off of the suffocating heat, off of the missing Avatar, off of things that linger too far ahead in the future. Instead, he occupies Katara with the confusing thought that he can alleviate this heat-induced delirium with hot hands, that he can help her _understand_ the language of desire.

And she wasn't sure he could, but she wasn't ready to make him stop.

His hands caress her thighs, thumbs flipping up to graze the embarrassingly wet heat between her legs. He murmurs something in her ear, something comforting, she's willing to bet, but her mind is dizzy with his touch and nothing makes sense. Only this, only him.

Katara bucks her hips upward, rolls them in a circle, and Zuko's palms wrap around her thighs to bring her down, and—

She moans, _loud_.

For a few moments, she thinks she has startled him, but then he moves his fingers in slow circles over the thin layer of her sarashi, and Katara doesn't _care_what it feels like to him, because it's _everything_ to her, everything swells with the heat building up underneath her skin and she doesn't know how to tell him it's too hot, that she can't take this, because he pushes his fingers down _hard_.

Her body coils in his arms, her spine arches until the back of her head is pressed against his shoulder, but he keeps one hand on her thigh and the other between her legs, intently moving, whispering things in her ear, incomprehensible things.

It's too hot; she starts to whimper, starts to mumble things on her own, and they don't make sense as she listens to herself, speaking in tongues of pleasure.

Zuko jerks his fingers and Katara's eyes are suddenly blinded white, and she screams, her fingers digging into his wrists, "Zuko," she chants, "Zuko, oh, Spirits, _Zuko, please, __**please**_." Her hips lock in almost pain as her body ricochets with pleasure and all the heat trapped beneath her skin pools between her legs, and she breathes heavily, she feels like she's exhaling fire.

His fingers brush against her thighs for a moment before he draws them away, and this time when he speaks in her ear, she can hear him clearly.

"A cold bath also helps, Katara," but with this, she thinks, she is completely satiated.

…

**notes** — this is for **bean** and **shannon**, without whom this would be sitting in the recycle bin on my laptop. also for my zutara week outtakes, other drabbles and things, you should go float around my tumblr (that would be ~xavalos).


	2. —euphoria

**title** — highlights  
**pairing** — katara & zuko  
**warnings** — none  
**etc** — this...might not make any sense, sorry.

…

This was reckless and stupid, but nothing tangled her insides up more than he did, whenever their eyes met and that exhilarating sensation spread throughout her. Katara wasn't sure where it came from; all she knew was that it reflected through her like spiraling rays of sunshine, like she was a beacon of light that he wandered towards with a crooked smile and painted red scar.

Katara was certain there wasn't anything between her and Zuko, but it was the allure of their relationship that sent chilling shudders up the hollow of her spine. She had hated him fiercely, _once_, and the potential to feel something that fierce again renewed the vitality of her spirit in ways she hadn't even known was possible. There was something that leapt in the bottom of her stomach when he smiled at her, something in the back of her mind whispering for her to just brush her fingers over his hand, and something that send her nerves fraying and twitching when she did.

Perhaps it was greed that latched its horrible, sticky fingers around her; greed that drove her to want the thrill and excitement of a beautiful, terrible boy like Zuko, something so contrasting between them that made her gentle and maternal affection for Aang seem so incestuous and wrong. It could have been lust, tugging at the deep, vulnerable corners of her mind and giving her that ache of want, that curiosity that spun with thoughts of what it must have been like to be next to him, to kiss him, to be underneath him.

She blushed at the thought.

It was something sinful and superficial that made Katara want to wrap herself around him, lose herself in the fullness of possibilities that only existed in universes where hand touches were only the beginning, and fiery, warm breath was exhaled into her lungs from kisses that robbed her of air.

She didn't know what to call it when she sat between her friends at the fire, met his eyes as he halted his conversation, watched his lips pull into a smile that gave way to flutters in her chest, and she hated that he could do that to her with ease and grace and handsome features leveled at her.

But this reckless, stupid feeling that he gave her seized up, grabbed her tightly and said, '_relax, you'll be here for a while_.'

…

**notes** — for most zutarians' convenience, we write things set in show verse with romance. i think zuko developed feelings for katara during the show, but she didn't share those right off the bat. so i'm slightly grateful that they aren't canon, because if they had been, bryke would have shoved them together on the porch of the jasmine dragon and that's rude.


	3. —voices

**title** — highlights  
**pairing** — katara & zuko  
**warnings** — none  
**etc** — i sorta like this one, but i wish it was longer.

…

The way men stare at her in the Lower Ring brings a shudder to her step as she walks. Katara knows they have barely enough coin to get by, so she doesn't find it absolutely necessary to disclose that she does their shopping in the Lower Ring, where the prices are more flexible and where a simple batting of her lashes may knock it down even further.

Besides, Aang is so despondent over Appa during the day time that it drives her away; even when there is no shopping to be done, she winds her way through the stands and chats with the vendors, picks through the bins of forgotten objects picked up and being resold for the smallest bit of change.

Tonight is a dangerous night for her, she realizes as her eyes draw attention to men in a drunken huddle, eyes darting out towards her every few moments. Terror clings to her skin and seeps in like slow poison, and the water in her waterskin quakes to protect her, a young girl walking around a bad stretch of town under the newly set sun.

"You shouldn't be here alone."

His fingers burn on the inside of her elbow as he pulls her along. Katara can only make out small details from the silhouette beside her, a tall, toned shadow with a face of points and curves that must be a mask. His grip isn't forceful; just enough to be felt in the crook of her arm as he pulls her aside from the gates, slips her through a small entrance she'd have never found on her own.

No one thinks much of a masked stranger and a young girl—at least not enough of it to stop them.

…

Katara should be inside with her friends, drinking tea and eating cakes and celebrating the end of a century-long war, but her mind is too heavy and clouded with confusion. She sits out on the balcony, her hair wound around her palms, twisting and tugging at the dark brown strands, wondering what it would be like if she just summoned up an ice dagger and cut through it all. Frayed tips and jagged split ends but something liberating lingering in the corner of her mind.

She thinks she may cut her hair soon, because she is not a little girl, and the way she braids it back is a thing she wants to leave in the past.

"You shouldn't be out here alone."

Those words burn down the center of her spine and she whips her head so fast that she's sure she'll just tear straight through her own hair, clutched in her fingers. How could she have never known, not recognized that scratchy drawl.

She bets if he touches her, it will burn the way it did on that night.

But Katara doesn't speak up. She lets Zuko sit beside her, listens to him offer words of encouragement in that voice she has come to recognize as her protector.

…

**notes** — blutara is my ultimate weakness and i would have loved to have _someone_ other than aang know that he's the blue spirit.


	4. —gravity

**title** — highlights  
**pairing** — katara & zuko  
**warnings** — sexual situations and adult themes  
**etc** — this is hella confusing.

…

Falling, falling, falling, this was nothing. His mouth fell, open kisses along her neck, a pathway lit by lips like smoldering coals. His fingers fell, into the tangles of her hair, the crooks of her arms, the scars on her thighs. And then he fell, all weight and no grace and no fear, and Katara's body caught him on the way down, and this was nothing to Zuko.

This was ease and instinct and hot fingers pushed into tight spaces, over and over and _over_ again. This was watching Katara's body bend in fluid waves of ecstasy, this was knowing that _he_ was the tide that pushed and pulled her back and forth. This was '_yes, please, oh, **don't stop**, right there, oh—**oh**, yes_.' This was _nothing_ to Zuko.

Falling was easy, the way their chests fall with heavy, charged breaths gasping from their mouths, the way she falls over him and her hair falls over her and they fall into each other, an endless, boundless attachment to one another. The way the sun falls behind the horizon, the sky torn in ribbons of cloud-covered flame.

Falling would be easy, if not for the air and the way it catches some things dynamically, if not for obstacles on the way down, if not for gravity bringing your feet back down to touch the ground.

And this is shameful crawling out of beds with sex-stained sheets and lidded eyes. This is saying goodbye for the final time, eyes averted but hands laced together and voices heavy with falling, falling, falling.

This is knowing he will _never_ have the one he truly desires.

And that is why falling is _nothing_ for Zuko, because he falls for Katara, and still thinks it is worth it when he shatters, in pieces along the ground.

…

**notes** — i guess this is implied kataang. ouch.


	5. —bound

**title** — highlights  
**pairing** — katara & zuko  
**warnings** — sexual situations and adult themes  
**etc** — flashback sex is a thing.

…

Katara scrapes her nails down the side of his ruined face and it reminds Zuko of those glistening green moments pierced with crystals and regret and Spirit Oasis water, and he can almost feel that bubbling, asphyxiating regret in the pit of his stomach that had been there when she touched his cheek; but this is not the same offer of salvation she extended back then.

"I think I could," and she pulls her nails down his chest, hooks them into the hem of his pants, "I could _learn_." Her palm skates over that throbbing friction pressing against the fabric and he throws his hips into the curve of her hand with a groan that echoes with utter frustration.

Zuko likes this memory instead, the memory where she can chain powerful, traitorous hands behind his back, where she can touch him wickedly without consequence, where the idea of her learning how to love her enemy is only a map of intimate touches away.

…

Zuko ties her wrists tightly behind her back and it reminds Katara of the midnight blue sky blotted with stars and the flash of blue ribbon under her nose and the rushing of water beside her, and she can almost feel the curl of heated breath in the shell of her ear; but this is not the same offer of salvation he extended back then.

"I'll show you," and he traces the flowery parts of her with his tongue, flicks it against the sensitive nerves hidden in the centerfold of her body, "that there are things to love." His hands burn inside her thighs, holding her from squirming as his mouth moves over her and she spills like a well overflowing.

Katara likes this memory instead, the memory where she doesn't have to pretend not to want his hands in all of those crevices where she dampens with heat, where her forgiveness has led to moments like this, where she is safe from everyone but him.

…

They try to replace the old memories, but they are tied with restraints they have never come to know.

…

**notes** — western air temple i'll-learn-to-love-you sex. and a lot of psychological shit too. i wrote another entry for bound and it's on my blog under the zutara week tag!


	6. —soothe

**title** — highlights  
**pairing** — katara & zuko  
**warnings** — none  
**etc** — this is for my perfect wife-senpai, shannon.

…

Katara wraps her arms around Zuko's waist, buries her nose into his chest when he hugs her goodbye, and it shocks him, because Zuko has never really suspected that Katara liked him much. (_Funny how he nearly dies with this thought_.) But she clings to him, her fingers clenching the smooth material of his clothes, and he's frightened to pry her away.

So he tilts his head down, ignores the way that Sokka stares at them from his spot between Toph and Suki, (and there's irony _there_ but no one ever speaks about it), and he whispers into the strands of chestnut hair dislodged by his embrace. "Are you okay?"

His tunic sticks to his chest with tears.

"Katara," he reaches a hand up to smooth her hair, crazy and ruffled by the breeze, pulls his fingers though it until it catches in tangles, "what's wrong?"

There's nothing to say, so she doesn't speak. She presses her nose further into his chest until it bends against him, sniffles quietly but refuses to slip her hands between their bodies and wipe her tears. "It's still warm here," she says, her voice congested with silent cries, "it felt like some of that lightning got stuck there. It never really goes away, does it?"

Katara tilts her head up to look at him, wet streaks down her face, eyes still glittering at him. "I—" She hesitates, looks to the side. (The side where Iroh sits, his eyes turned into a teacup, but he knows, he _knows_; Aang is conveniently packing their things onto Appa—_her_ things.)

"This feeling never really goes away," she mumbles and her fingers tug his body closer to hers, and Zuko can't shake the way that she clings to him, like he's the only thing that can keep her here.

Maybe she wants to be _here_. (And here is not _here_, it is here, with his lightning, with _him_.)

Zuko pulls his arms from around her waist, wedges them between their bodies. He wipes her tears with warm palms, gently and careful as he can manage them, and smiles at her. (He's not sure what that is, whether it's a smile or a platitude of thanks, but he accepts, he _always_ will.)

"Aang," he says, and his voice carries strongly across the group of friends. The Avatar stands from the saddle, looking down. "I'll need Katara's things."

…

**notes** — i'll take your canon and beat it to death with my alternate reality.


	7. —spark

**title** — highlights  
**pairing** — katara & zuko  
**warnings** — none  
**etc** — this is very elemental and would fit better if we were talking about storms.

…

Katara's voice is like thunder echoing in his head, and Zuko stares at her like he's waiting for rain. He's _always_ had storm clouds dripping rain onto his head and all he wants now is for it to happen, for that torrential downpour to slide over him; all he wants now is for it to be _over with_ already.

"Are you even _listening_ to me?" Zuko snaps his head up, lips creased into a frown. She's leaning in his doorway, arms folded across her chest the way they had been before, when she'd threatened him.

They've come a long way from that day.

"You should just go, Katara," he mumbles, rolls so that he's facing away from her. He can sense her shock as if it were static, feels her steps across the floor even though he'd rather her go before things get difficult and feelings get hurt.

She touches her hand to his shoulder, sits down on the edge of his bed. "Zuko," she starts, her fingers skating down the sleeve of his tunic, but he jerks his arm away.

"I—we," he stammers over his words, heaves a sigh as he sits up, slipping his feet off of the edge of the bed away from her. He can feel the round sadness of her eyes bearing into his back and he ignores it, hoping that something warm and angry sparks in his chest to replace it, to warm him from the impending storm.

"I was never any good for you," he says resolutely, and the silence between them is palpable. Katara is quiet, her back still facing his, and Zuko pretends not to hear her whispering cries as she leaves his room.

…

When that blue spark crackles between her fingers, malicious and cruel in its intent, Zuko knows it is the very spark he asked for; even as it pierces his chest and he slides to the ground, he knows this is _over_, and all he has to do is wait; the thunder has come and the lightning has struck, and all there is now is rain.

…

**notes** — pssst the rain is tears okay bye. this is as close to realism as i will get for now. also, thank you tons for following this if you have! i appreciate it.


End file.
